


Dragonborn and Hortator

by blazingsnark



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Gen, gender-and-race ambiguous dragonborn, gender-and-race ambiguous nerevarine, literally just crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 20:31:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12395688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blazingsnark/pseuds/blazingsnark
Summary: The Nerevarine and Dragonborn, only days after an unlucky Dragonborn is forced to negotiate a truce to the civil war, compare notes on politics.





	Dragonborn and Hortator

The Dragonborn tosses back the rest of the mead, then slams the empty cup down on the scarred wood table.  “And, if you can believe it, Elenwen had the nerve to waltz right in!”

The Nerevarine sitting across the table says nothing, but a tilted head and intent eyes indicate attention.  The Dragonborn continues after a sufficiently dramatic pause.

“She tried to muscle her way into the treaty!  It was like she was trying to control the Empire’s side.  Her Dominion’s got no place meddling with the dragons, how dare-”

A passing barmaid refills the Dragonborn’s cup.  Indignant words trail into thanks.  The Nerevarine takes a sip of matze and waits to speak until the barmaid moves to another table.

“You don’t say.”  One eyebrow raises in an expression reminiscent of another age, when people were far less expressive and far more judgemental.  “When did the hidden blades and murder plots come out?”

“Hidden blades and murder plots?”

The Nerevarine nods.  “It’s politics.  Mephala’s hand always shows.”

“There were no hidden blades and murder plots.”  The Dragonborn sits back and stares at the Nerevarine.  “Um, I mean, there were Blades at the meeting, and they wanted me to kill Paarthunax-”

“Who?”

Impatient, the Dragonborn waves a hand.  “The Greybeards’ leader.  But I don’t think you meant that.”

“Not quite.  The Blades of this age are barely a shadow of what they used to be.”  Some unidentifiable emotion flashes across the Nerevarine’s face, but it’s quickly masked.  Another sip of matze.  “I remember when they were spymasters.  Now they’re…”

“Idiots?” the Dragonborn suggests delicately, and snorts into the now-full cup of mead.  The Nerevarine waits until the Dragonborn calms.

“That aside.  There were no hints of murder?  No blackmail or threats to kidnap each other’s children?”

“Um, no.”  Now it’s the Dragonborn’s turn to raise an eyebrow, entirely confused.  “Ulfric and Tullius?  I think they’re both childless.  Wait, why is this even a topic?”

“Congratulations, then.”  The Nerevarine takes a deeper swallow of matze than before, grimacing at the potent alcohol’s burn.  “That’s what we call a  _ good _ day in politics.”

The Dragonborn stares in silence.

The Nerevarine waits.

“Threats to kidnap each other’s children?” the Dragonborn repeats at length.  “That’s oddly specific.”

“Skyrim politics have nothing on Morrowind.”  The Nerevarine laughs, half-bitter, at something the Dragonborn doesn’t quite fathom.  “If you don’t have to kill one or the other of them, consider yourself lucky.”

The Dragonborn grins, seeing an opportunity to maybe lighten the mood.  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had to kill someone to become Hortator.”

The Nerevarine raises one eyebrow again.

“No,” the Dragonborn says in disbelief.

The Nerevarine runs the tip of one finger around the matze cup’s rim, watching the Dragonborn.

“Who was it?”

“Who were  _ they _ ,” corrects the Nerevarine, and holds up two fingers.  It’s worth it just for the shock on the Dragonborn’s face.

The Nerevarine laughs, then drains the matze and stands, clapping the Dragonborn on the shoulder.

“Come to Morrowind sometime.  Our politics are far more interesting than yours.”

The Dragonborn draws breath to respond.  The Nerevarine grins.

“And our alcohol is better.”

“You-” the Dragonborn sputters, completely losing that train of thought, and the Nerevarine’s loud laughter draws the attention of the entire bar.


End file.
